


Need

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-19
Updated: 2005-10-19
Packaged: 2018-10-27 13:58:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10810431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: But he doesn





	Need

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Content warning for those of you who don't like Harry all messed up...

 

The banging at the door jolts her awake. Voldemort has been gone for almost a year now, but she’s still jumpy and there are many, many Death Eaters still at large who would like to see her dead. Clad only in an old t-shirt and knickers, she creeps towards the door, praying she won’t trip over something in the dark. Her fingers curl tightly around her wand. She still sleeps with it under her pillow. .

“Tonks... open up... please...”

“Harry?” she calls tentatively though the door. Her eyes flit to the enchanted mirror she has mounted to the wall. It’s Harry all right... haggard, hollow... but still Harry.

“I need to talk to you...”

The cold, winter air leaves her skin prickling with goose flesh even after she’s done letting him in. His robes are completely soaked; his wild, black hair clings to a face she’s not sure she really knows. At least... not anymore.

He’s not the Harry of nearly two years ago... the awkward, but eager boy of that summer she’ll never forget. His eyes now hold something ancient, soul ripping, an unfathomable horror only he can see. She shivers... and it is not from the cold.

Wordlessly, his icy fingers grip her shoulders. His mouth covers hers in a kiss that is harsh and ravenous with a hunger that can never be sated.

“Y-your clothes,” she says, when she is finally able to tear her lips away. “You are soaking wet.”

He says nothing. He only stares at her. It makes her uneasy. She takes him by the wrist and pulls him towards the bath. Without resistance, he follows. He doesn’t protest when she begins removing his robes. He only stands there, dripping on the tiles as she carefully peels away the layers of cloth plastered wetly to him. His is skin so pale, so cold, it is as if he’s been beautifully sculpted from a block of ice. He remains motionless, his limbs only moving at her will, until her fingers brush against a fresh scar, bright pink above his heart. He winces with pain.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, “does it still hurt?”

“Always,” he says, in a voice that is so very, very far away. “Always...”

Finally, he is completely naked. There is no shyness, no modesty. He doesn’t so much as shiver. She summons the largest towel she has from the cupboard and casts a warming charm, though she knows no warming charm can ever be warm enough.

She tries to make conversation. She asks about Ron and Hermione and his future plans. Is the press still hounding him? Does he still want to be an Auror? Has he decided yet? His answers consist mostly monosyllables and half-hearted shrugs.

“You said you needed to talk to me, Harry,” she says, growing slightly exasperated at the sound of her own voice echoing too loudly off the tiles without answer.

“Yes,” he says, with something akin to the Harry she once knew flickering behind his gaze. “Yes, I did.”

“If you need someone,” she begins. “If you need anything at all, you know I am always here...”

The words have barely escaped her tongue, and he has her pinned against the sink. His mouth is crushing, devouring. Hungrily, his fingers dig into her back, claw desperately at her thin t-shirt. “I need...” he whispers against her swollen lips. “I need...”

But he doesn’t need words to tell her. She knows... and after everything, she needs it too.

They stumble clumsily towards the bedroom, shucking towel and t-shirt and knickers as they go. He throws her down hard on the bed, pinning her wrists against the pillows. His kisses are rough, all over her neck and breasts... she knows there will be marks. She can feel his erection throbbing against her stomach, and parts her legs in response.

He grips her thighs and plunges deep inside. His thrusts come hard and fast and are nothing like before. But then, Harry is nothing like he was before. The sweet, innocent young boy has been taken from him... taken from her.

She tries desperately not to cry out, having forgotten a silencing charm and fearing her neighbors might hear. She grabs his hips, pulling him closer... harder, faster as she reaches her climax. His comes almost immediately after, and he collapses on top of her, burying his face against her shoulder.

Harry is shaking, his body wracked with sobs. She wraps her arms and legs around him as tightly as she can, rocking gently, wishing she could rock the pain away. The pain she knows will be there... always.

***

In the morning, there is a letter. He’s gone away. Left for the States. Please don’t tell Ron and Hermione. He can't say more, and he can’t stay here... they’ll go looking, and he doesn’t want them to bring him back. He’ll update her from time to time, just so she knows he is still alive.

Thank you for everything.

Love,

Harry


End file.
